Adultery
by Apollo888
Summary: Having a baby is a life-changing event. For Mary and Matthew, the arrival of their precious George changes their routine, and the way they treat each other. Faced with a new reality and the pressures and temptations of the modern world, how will their marriage go forward? A Mary and Matthew modern drama set in the Breaking Bread modern AU. The sequel to Milquetoast.


**Author's Note:** My somewhat rushed contribution to MM Tribute Day 2015. Many thanks to _patsan_ , _Willa Dedalus_ and _Lala Kate_ for their continued support. To all of my readers, especially those of you who have been shouting me out on tumblr (even though I don't have a tumblr account) thank you. It's shocking to me that my stories have an impact on all of you, and I'm very grateful for you all continuing to read, follow, favourite, and review.

This story takes place in the _Breaking Bread_ modern AU series. The story is set after the events of _Milquetoast_ and fills in the gap up to the last scene in _There's Something About Christmastime_. Thank you to all of you who have supported this modern AU and inspired me to keep it going.

This story begins with Mary and Matthew's first moments as new parents to baby George, and explores the changes that this causes in their lives, and the impact of stress and expectation on their marriage as they struggle to balance family life and careers, while facing pressures and temptations. Please mind the rating. This story deals with mature themes and readers' discretion is strongly advised.

* * *

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 2017**

Edith Crawley stood on the pavement outside of her older sister Mary's home, looking up at the stately mansion with its Italian Renaissance Palazzo architecture. The tall windows of each of the three storeys were framed by stone columns and false terraces and topped by intricate cornices and arches. When her Papa had sold the home to Mary's husband Matthew, Edith was shocked. Not only was it ridiculous that Mary should have the family's London home entirely to herself, she thought then, but it was quite wasteful that the large residence should be devoted to just two occupants. Now though, that had all changed with the arrival of Mary and Matthew's first child, George. Edith had to admit that there was something poetic about the next generation of Crawleys being raised here.

She took a deep breath, then steeled herself and walked up the steps to the front door. As she approached, the door swung open and her other brother-in-law, Tom Branson, smiled at her and beckoned her inside.

"Playing butler for Mary and Matthew, are you?" she smiled, leaning over and kissing his cheek as she stepped into the foyer.

"I do what I can," Tom shrugged, returning her kiss and closing the door behind her. "Is Michael not coming?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Edith said, her voice catching slightly. "We broke up."

"Oh," Tom said, taken aback. "I'm sorry, Edith."

"Thank you," Edith smiled wanly.

"Edith! Darling, there you are!" Sybil called, coming into the foyer and hugging her sister. "Well come on in, Mary's just feeding him now."

"Lovely," Edith smiled bravely at Tom, then took her younger sister's arm and followed her down the hall. "I must say, I never imagined Mary to be the nursing type."

"Shh…she's not," Sybil warned. "She pumped for the first couple of weeks, but she's switched him on to formula now. It's a bit of a point of contention."

"I can imagine," Edith shook her head. "Matthew must be beside himself over that."

"They've had more than a few rows over it," Sybil said tightly. "I think they each expected the other to concede once the baby was born, but Mary's just gone ahead and done things her way."

"Of course she has," Edith said ruefully. "Where's Mama?"

"She's out with Isobel," Sybil replied. "They're both leaving next week. I'm afraid of what will happen when they're gone."

"Sybil," Edith scoffed. "They have a full-time nanny, a night nurse, a housekeeper and a cook. I hardly think they're lacking for support."

"Yes, but you know Matthew, he wants them to spend as much time with the baby as possible. He doesn't like passing his son off to the servants," Sybil said.

"Well he had better get used to it," Edith sighed. "Mary told me she wants to go back to work as soon as possible."

"She's agreed to wait until September as a peace offering to Matthew," Sybil said. "But you're right. She's eager to get out of here, I think."

Edith nodded in understanding.

"Where's Michael?" Sybil asked. "Is he coming by later?"

"No," Edith said, swallowing hard. "We broke up, Sybil."

"What?" Sybil gasped, stopping and turning to face Edith. "Oh, darling."

Edith stumbled into her sister's embrace and sobbed quietly.

"He was fucking one of his interns," she choked out. "That business trip to Germany a month ago was all a hoax. He went and shacked up with her in Brighton for a week. The hotel called the house saying he left his phone charger behind. That's how I found out. They said that Mr. or Mrs. Gregson must have forgotten it and said they'd put it in the post."

"God, Edith, I'm so sorry," Sybil sighed, rubbing her sister's back. "Please say you kicked him out and threw all of his shit out the window or something."

"The movers just left before I came over here," Edith nodded, stepping back and taking a tissue out of her purse to wipe her eyes. "Even this morning he was begging me to take him back, and I almost did, Sybil! God, I'm so stupid and weak!"

"No you're not!" Sybil said gently. "Come on, this is all his fault, not yours."

"You should see this mistress of his," Edith rolled her eyes, sniffling as she wiped her nose. "Younger than me, blonde hair, big boobs. She probably does everything I don't."

"Stop it, Edith," Sybil ordered. "Do not punish yourself. He's a fucking arse if he doesn't see all he's lost in you."

"I know, I know," Edith nodded, checking her reflection in the hall mirror. "All right, let's go in and see our nephew. If I let myself think too much about Michael, I'll break down again."

"Are you sure? I could just tell Mary that something came up and that you're coming by later," Sybil suggested.

"No, no," Edith shook her head vigorously. "I didn't make it to the hospital and Mary probably wants to kill me over that, and she'd be more than entitled to. I have to see him now. I want to."

"All right," Sybil nodded.

They walked down the hall and past the kitchen, crossing through the open concept dining room before reaching the solarium that Mary had converted into a ground floor nursery where they could receive visitors. There were gift baskets full of baby clothes and toys placed all around the brightly lit room, and Mary sat in a sliding rocking chair, moving back and forth, holding her swaddled newborn in her arms, feeding him with a small bottle. Behind Mary and looking on adoringly was her husband. Matthew seemed to have just come home from work, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened. He looked up as Sybil and Edith came into the room.

"Ah, there you are! Finally!" he smiled. "Come meet your nephew George, Aunt Edith."

Edith walked carefully over to Mary's other side and grinned down at the sight of her sister's infant son curled against her. His tiny mouth was suckling at the bottle, his eyes a bright blue, tufts of blond hair peeking out from the cute little cotton hat on his head.

"Oh, Mary," Edith grinned. "He's absolutely gorgeous."

"Thank you," Mary said, her eyes on George as she fed him his bottle. "And thank you for coming. I was wondering if I might have to send Mama and Papa out to fetch you."

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Edith said shakily.

"Well, you're here now," Mary smiled.

"Sybil, why don't you get Edith set up and she can burp him when he's done?" Matthew smiled.

Edith blinked in surprise, then stood still as Sybil draped a towel over her shoulder and pulled her hair back slightly.

"He's almost got it all. Are you ready, Edith?" Mary asked.

"I…I think so. I hope so," Edith mumbled.

"You'll be fine. Just hold him firmly against you, rub his back and he'll do the rest," Matthew smiled.

"All right, come here, George, come to Auntie Sybil! Yes! Yes! Hello! Hello!" Sybil cooed, taking the baby from Mary and placing him on Edith's shoulder. George held on as Edith took him and held him against the towel, rubbing his back in circles and rocking back and forth slowly.

"Hello, George. Hello, Georgie," Edith sang.

The baby swallowed several times, then let out a firm grunt.

"There you go, darling!" Sybil laughed. "And barely any spit up! Very good!"

Edith felt a few tears welling in her eyes as she held on to her nephew. She continued rocking back and forth, feeling George settle against her.

"You're doing great," Sybil nodded. "He's falling asleep!"

"I think we might have found a backup for Nanny," Matthew smiled at Mary.

"She'll have to fight me for him!" Sybil retorted.

"He does seem to like both of them, doesn't he?" Mary chuckled, leaning back in the chair wearily, her eyelids drooping slightly.

"Oh, I absolutely adore him!" Edith sobbed, smiling as tears fell down her cheeks.

"It's amazing the effect he has on people," Matthew said proudly, reaching down and kissing the top of Mary's head.

"It is," Mary smiled, reaching up and caressing her husband's face. "Now, can I trust you to change him and put him down without too much fuss?"

"I may just bring him over to the couch and have a kip myself," Matthew nodded.

"All right, just be careful you don't roll over on to him or something," Mary said, easing herself up to her feet. "Sybil, can you…"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, let's get you to bed," Sybil said, coming over and taking Mary's hand. She helped her older sister out of the solarium and towards the foyer, making their way upstairs so Mary could take a much needed nap.

"Smile, both of you," Matthew called as he took several photos of Edith and George with his mobile phone.

"Oh, Matthew, I must look horrid," Edith protested, still smiling as she held George.

"Nonsense," Matthew smiled.

"And how are you holding up, Papa?" Edith asked him as she continued to sway with George.

"I can't say that I've ever been this tired before in my entire life," he shook his head. "I've been taking cabs to the office because I don't trust myself to drive. He's actually a really good sleeper, but we still have to wake him up every two hours for a feeding."

"You know that you're supposed to let the nanny and wet nurse handle the feedings. That's why you have them," Edith said.

"Yes, but I like being up with him," Matthew said. "Mary says I'm mental to do it. She woke up with me the first few nights, but lately she's given up. She's barely sleeping more than I am as it is. We're a couple of zombies."

"Well, don't worry," Edith smiled. "I hear it only lasts for the first few years or so."

"Ha ha," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Edith," Tom called from the doorway. "Why don't you pass George to Matthew and go upstairs? Sybil says that Mary wants to have a chat before she passes out."

"All right," Edith said, reluctantly giving George back to Matthew, then leaving to go upstairs to Mary's bedroom.

* * *

"Come lie down," Mary ordered when Edith came into the room.

"Why?" Edith asked, frowning at Sybil.

"Because you need to," Mary said. "Don't argue with me, Edith. I'm a new mum getting no sleep. I'm quite ornery."

"More than usual, she means," Sybil joked.

"Oh, all right," Edith sighed, coming over and getting into bed next to Mary. With Sybil on the other side of the large King, the three sisters stretched out under the duvet.

"I'm sorry about Michael, Edith, truly I am," Mary mumbled, her eyes already closed.

"Thank you," Edith said quietly. "I suppose I should have listened to you a few years ago when you first met him. You warned me there was something wrong with him."

"Well, he had his good moments, and he did make you happy, I know that," Mary said. "But you don't deserve what he did to you, so he can fuck off."

Edith laughed, fresh tears spilling down her face.

"Look at both of you," Edith sighed. "You happily married, and now with a beautiful son. Sybil happily married and probably will be pregnant before I even have my next date. I'm destined to be the spinster sister and aunt, I'm afraid."

"Don't say that," Sybil said from the other side of Mary.

"Relationships come when you least expect them, you know. Look at me and Matthew. I didn't even know he loved me until the two of you pointed it out," Mary said.

"Well if either of you are aware of a man who is secretly in love with me, please let me know," Edith grumbled.

 **Office of Mary Crawley Interior Design Inc., Mayfair, London, England, September 2017**

Mary frowned as she typed away on her computer keyboard. She paused, read over what she had, then deleted it and started again. The typing would continue uninterrupted for a few minutes before she would go over the text again and revise it. She sighed and sat back when her assistant, Anna, came into her office.

"I'm sending you the press release," Mary said, hitting the send button on her email program. "I'm sick of looking at it. Make sure it's comprehendible. I can barely see straight."

"I'll take care of it," Anna nodded. She placed several posters on Mary's desk. "These are the mock-ups for the magazine and internet ads. They turned out quite well, I'd say."

Mary looked them over carefully, nodding slowly. "They are quite good, yes," she agreed. "I want them to really pop, Anna. Now that I'm back to work, I want the whole industry to know it."

"I'm sure they will," Anna said. "Though the best publicity would be a high profile client."

"I know," Mary sighed, running her hand through her hair. "We had such good momentum going before I went on leave. I hate to think we have to build it all back up again just because I was away for a few months."

"Even if we do, it's not that big a thing," Anna said kindly. "Besides, it's all worth it. George is such a wonderful boy."

"He is. He's an angel," Mary smiled, looking at the photograph of her and George on her computer screen. "Which is more than I can say for his father."

"Oh no, what did Matthew do now?" Anna smiled, shaking her head.

"More of the same, inundating me with the latest statistics and studies on the benefits of breastfeeding, playing music while your baby sleeps, and the top hypoallergenic baby toys," Mary rolled her eyes, waving her mobile at Anna. "He's driving me mad, Anna. I almost dread it when he comes home, thinking he's got a new piece of advice to give me on how to raise my son."

"I can't say I'm very surprised," Anna chuckled. "Matthew is quite meticulous."

"Yes, he is," Mary nodded. "I used to find that endearing about him, but now it makes me want to kill him."

Anna laughed and turned for the door. Mary shook her head and went back to looking at the poster designs.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, September 2017**

"Have you got a minute?" Matthew asked, knocking on the office door.

"For you, always," Alex Lewis smiled, waving Matthew in.

Matthew came in and closed the door behind him. He crossed the marble floor and sat down on the leather sofa against one wall of Alex's office.

"What's on your mind?" Alex asked, turning his chair to face Matthew.

"Lavinia mentioned that the Hendricks Receivership is being assigned to Klefbom," Matthew said carefully.

"Yes, that's correct," Alex nodded.

"Alex, Mirella Hendricks is my client. I've been her lawyer since her company came to the firm. Why is another lawyer handling one of her files?" Matthew asked.

"Matthew, the Hendricks Receivership is a multinational file with proceedings here, in New York and Toronto," Alex said patiently. "We're overseeing the entire thing. You know how big a file it's going to be. It's a rather large ask for you to deal with it."

"Why?" Matthew frowned. "I've done larger ones before."

"Yes, you have," Alex nodded. "That was before you had my lovely godson to take care of."

"I can handle the file," Matthew said firmly.

Alex frowned slightly. "Matthew, all you've been telling me since George was born was how little sleep you've been getting. Why don't you let Klefbom take this one and you can get the next one?"

"Alex, you know how Mirella Hendricks is," Matthew shook his head. "If I don't do this file, she'll consider someone else for the next one, and the next one after that. I'm happy to have Klefbom on the team, under me, but I need to be the partner on the file."

Alex sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Matthew…"

"I can do it," Matthew vowed.

"All right, it's yours," Alex relented. "But if I hear that you're taking on too much or falling asleep in the boardroom, I'll pull you back and give Klefbom the lead. I know you don't think he's as good as you, and he probably isn't, but he's eager to please, puts in the hours and he doesn't have a newborn at home taking up his time and energy. I need a lawyer, Matthew, not a hero."

"Understood," Matthew smiled.

"All right, now where are the latest pictures of my godson?" Alex asked.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, October 2017**

"Oh God! Fuck! Yes!" Mary gasped, pulling Matthew tight against her.

Matthew grunted, thrusting into her. His hands gently held her legs spread around his hips, and he kissed her cheek and neck as his breathing grew more ragged.

She cried out as she released around him, squeezing him, her hands hanging on to his back. Moments later, he let out a choked gasp and she felt him spill inside of her. She blinked several times and held on to him, calming her own breathing. He kissed her forehead, then rolled off of her, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting up.

"That was…rather…quiet…" she muttered, pulling the duvet across her chest.

"Well, I didn't want to wake the nanny, or George," he chuckled, looking at the display screen of the baby monitor, checking to make sure their son was still fast asleep.

"No, of course not," she nodded. "We were lucky he didn't interrupt us this time."

"Very," he said, smiling back at her. "Did you want to shower first?"

"You go," she said, lying back against the pillows.

She watched him get up and wander into the ensuite bathroom and close the door behind him. The sound of the taps turning on and the shower running followed soon after. Sliding her hand under the duvet, she touched her stomach and frowned, glancing again at the closed door of the bathroom. Sighing to herself, she closed her eyes and waited for him to finish so she could take her turn to clean up.

 **The Old Bank of England Pub, Fleet Street, London, England, November 2017**

"All right, lads, I'm off," Matthew said, throwing down a few pound notes on to the table to cover his drinks.

"Oh, come on, Matthew, we're just getting started," another lawyer said.

"Sorry, I've got to get home," Matthew smiled.

"The Missus is calling you, hey?" another lawyer joked.

"Not the Missus, the baby," Matthew laughed.

"I thought you had a nanny," another lawyer said. "Hang around for a bit, Matthew. The night might get interesting."

Matthew followed his line of sight to a corner table where some of the firm's female lawyers and staff were gathered around drinking and laughing.

"Uh, no, not interested," Matthew shook his head, smiling ruefully.

"Don't be so quick to say no, Matthew," another lawyer smiled. "You could have any of them you want. You're considered a big catch, you know. A top tier man."

"What does that mean?" Matthew blinked in confusion.

"Nothing," another lawyer said, kicking his friend under the table. "Good night, Matthew."

"Good night," Matthew nodded, looking over the group curiously, then hefting his messenger bag and making his way out of the pub.

"What'd you kick me for? Geez," the lawyer said, rounding on his friend.

"Matthew doesn't know, you fucking idiot," the other lawyer admonished him. "Keep your mouth shut or we're all fucked."

"Shit," the lawyer blinked, taking a long pull of his beer.

 **The Wolesley Restaurant, St. James, London, England, December 2017**

"You're only having the avocado?" Catherine Jones frowned, looking at Mary questioningly.

"What?" Mary said, taking a sip of water. "I'm not that hungry."

"It was your idea to come here in the first place," Rhiannon noted, equally confused. "You've been raving about the menu for weeks."

"The food here is fantastic, yes," Mary shrugged. "I just feel like something light."

"Avocado isn't light, it's practically non-existent," Ellen scoffed. "Come on, Mary, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Mary frowned.

"Ah, I see what's going on here," Catherine smiled, sipping her wine. "You're worried about how long it's taking you to lose the rest of your baby weight."

"That has nothing to do with it," Mary retorted defensively. "And what would you know about anything having to do with babies?"

"Nothing, but I know what I see. You've been going to extra spinning and yoga classes for weeks and now you're eating like a rabbit. Mary, you're gorgeous, you don't need to kill yourself over a few extra pounds," Catherine said lightly.

"I'll second that," Ellen said. "You look fantastic. My sister was almost twice your size five months after her daughter was born."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"There, see? Your extra weight is barely even noticeable. Besides, what does it matter?" Catherine said. "Matthew adores you. I'm sure he couldn't care less what you weigh."

"Of course he doesn't care," Mary said tightly, sipping her water.

"Good, then order some real food, for fuck's sake," Catherine said.

"I'm fine with the avocado," Mary said.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, December 2017**

"Hello Lady Mary," the receptionist said cheerfully. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas," Mary smiled politely, removing her gloves.

"I'll send a quick message to Mr. Crawley and let him know you're here," the receptionist nodded.

"Thank you," Mary said, walking over to sit down on one of the leather couches and taking out her mobile.

She raised her head at the sound of footsteps coming downstairs. A dozen women dressed in sports bras and yoga pants came into the reception area, talking and laughing. Mary blinked in confusion, wondering what was going on.

"Mary! Hi!" a perky redhead said, coming over to her.

"Lavinia," Mary smiled politely, getting up from the sofa. "Hello."

"You're here to see Matthew, obviously. He's just wrapping up a conference call. I just came from his office," Lavinia smiled.

"Ah," Mary replied, becoming even more confused.

"You must wonder why we're all dressed like this," Lavinia laughed. "The firm encourages a healthy lifestyle, so a bunch of us have a yoga class during the lunch hour. The main boardroom is the only room large enough for all of us."

"That's very progressive of the firm," Mary smiled, looking over Lavinia's shoulder as the other women were setting up their mats in the glass-walled boardroom behind the reception desk.

"It is," Lavinia agreed. "We're lucky that Matthew is on the committee that deals with these types of things. Some of the other partners would have said no right away, I'm sure."

"Well, Matthew can be quite progressive," Mary nodded.

"Yes, he can be," Lavinia laughed. "Well, I better get in there. Have a lovely lunch. If you're ever around, feel free to join us if you like. The more, the merrier!"

"Thanks," Mary said, arching her eyebrow and smiling at the suggestion.

Lavinia walked away and went into the boardroom. Once she set up her mat, the women opened with a wide-legged split pose. As they were all facing away from the reception area, they presented a rather strange picture to anyone looking in.

Mary frowned, looking away from the twelve upraised spandex-covered rear ends and glancing down at her own figure.

"Hello, darling," Matthew said, coming over to her and kissing her cheek. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It was fine," she said curtly. "I had a nice chat with Lavinia. She invited me to attend the firm's yoga class."

"The yoga…oh!" he blinked, looking over at the boardroom, then quickly turning back to Mary. "Yeah, that's something we do for employee morale. None of us use the boardroom at lunch so it's not an inconvenience, and it keeps them happy."

"How brilliant of you," she said. "Well, let's get going."

She turned and walked out of the office. He blinked in confusion, then sighed and went to catch up to her.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 2017**

"For fuck's sake!" Matthew muttered, glancing at his mobile as he bounced George on his knee. He put the phone away and kissed his son on the top of his head. "George, take a lesson from Papa. There is nothing more annoying than a person who doesn't answer her phone or return text messages."

"Ah, Matthew!" Robert said in surprise as he came into the library. "I thought you'd gone into Ripon with the others."

"No, it's a bit chilly outside and I didn't want George to catch a cold," Matthew explained. "I thought they would be back by now. They've been gone for hours."

"That is a bit strange. There isn't that much to do in Ripon," Robert agreed. "Why don't you text Mary and see how much longer she'll be?"

"That's a brilliant idea," Matthew muttered, glancing at his mobile.

"Come here now, George!" Robert said, smiling and holding his arms out to his grandson. "Come see what Grandpapa has to show you!"

Matthew handed George over and the baby grabbed on to Robert, resting his head on the Earl's shoulder. Robert carried George over to the bookshelves, pointing out different books and explaining what they were about. The boy kept trying to grab the books off the shelves and Robert laughed and held on to his little hand before any damage could be done.

"We're back!" Sybil smiled, coming into the library with Edith and Mary trailing behind her. They were all carrying numerous bags in their hands, which they set down on the coffee table.

"What took you so long?" Matthew asked quietly, frowning as Mary came to his side. "I thought you were just going in to take a look at one store?"

"We were, originally, but there were a number of holiday sales going on, so we couldn't resist," Mary smiled. Her happy expression dropped when she saw Matthew was still annoyed. "Why? Was there anything urgent? George seems perfectly calm."

"Yes, he is, but he's late for his nap, and you know he won't go down until he sees you first," Matthew replied, keeping his voice down. "I called you and texted you. Did you not check your phone?"

"It was in my purse and I suppose I didn't feel it vibrate," Mary replied, perplexed at his mood. "Well, I'm back now so I'll bring him up to Nanny."

"Good," Matthew nodded, turning away from her and occupying himself with his phone.

Mary looked at him peculiarly for a moment, then turned away and went to take her son from her Papa.

"All right, let's go George," she cooed. "You can see Grandpapa and everyone else later this afternoon, and perhaps your Papa will be a better mood by then."

Robert handed the boy over and Mary quickly took him out of the room and across the Great Hall to the stairs, rubbing his back as she went.

"George, darling, take a lesson from your Mama. Do not ever be so stupid as to complain about your wife going shopping, especially during Christmas. I think your Papa's new tie will now end up being your Grandpapa's present," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she carried her son upstairs.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, July 2018**

 _"Rejoice, Gooners everywhere! After years of complaints that the Board and manager Arsene Wenger refused to spend the enormous profits generated each season, Arsenal Football Club today announced the transfer of one of the world's most prolific strikers. Yes, it's true, Jeremy Turan is now an Arsenal player. The 28 year-old France international, formerly of Real Madrid, completed his transfer this morning for a Premier League record 70 million pounds. Though personal financial terms were not disclosed, rumour has it that the Turkish-born superstar will be paid a staggering 250,000 pounds per week, the highest salary paid to any player by Arsenal, surpassing the previous high of 180,000 paid to midfielder Mesut Ozil."_

"Matthew, are you seeing this?" a lawyer asked, pointing to the large television screen on the boardroom wall.

Matthew looked up from his computer and over at the screen. The firm usually used the screen for conference calls or video presentations, but if they were just gathered around in the boardroom for a project, having the noise of the daily news running in the background was a welcome accompaniment. The breaking sports story had immediately drawn the junior associates' interest.

 _"Turan, nicknamed 'El Toro' or 'The Bull' from his time in Spain, is coming off a starring turn in the recent World Cup, where just last week he practically singlehandedly led France into the semifinals,"_ the announcer said breathlessly. _"He was the leading goal scorer in the Champions League last season, and brings instant excitement and credibility to the Emirates. He is the cold-blooded finisher that this team has been sorely lacking for almost a decade, since the departure of Sky Sports' very own pundit, and club legend, Thierry Henry. Henry himself has called Turan a 'force of nature', 'unstoppable' and 'impossible to defend', high praise indeed from the leading goal scorer in the history of both Arsenal and France. While in Madrid, Turan led the club to an embarrassment of riches – winning La Liga three times, the Copa del Rey twice and the Champions League two times. His most memorable performance was perhaps last year against Arsenal, when he scored a hat trick in London, including a spectacular effort where he literally dribbled through two defenders before rounding the goalkeeper. Though he is often featured in the gossip section as much as the sports pages for several very high profile celebrity relationships over the years, according to former teammates and coaches, Turan's work ethic is unmatched. Wherever he goes, the paparazzi are sure to follow, and no doubt Arsenal are hoping that his international popularity will enhance the club's appeal worldwide. Though he has been called everything from a selfish player obsessed with his own statistics to a notorious womanizer, his results on the pitch have been nothing short of world class. We'll carry the press conference introducing Turan as an Arsenal player live later this afternoon. For now, welcome to London, El Toro."_

"What do you think, Matthew?" one of the associates asked.

"Good player," Matthew nodded, returning to typing on his notebook computer. "United will still beat them though."

The associates smiled at each other before returning to their work.

 **Office of Mary Crawley Interior Design, Inc., Mayfair, London, England, July 2018**

Mary was flipping through a furniture catalogue when her phone buzzed. She looked up and hit the speakerphone button.

"Yes, Anna?" she asked.

"Mary, there's someone here interested in hiring us to do his house," Anna said.

"He obviously doesn't have an appointment," Mary frowned.

"No, he says he heard about us and just wanted to drop by. He just moved into the City," Anna said.

"All right, show him in and bring tea, please," Mary said, hanging up.

She closed the catalogue and set it aside, taking out a blank notepad from her desk. Anna would give the prospective customer a marketing package, so Mary just needed a pad to scribble down any notes. The fact this person just pushed in to her office without an appointment was not a positive sign.

"Mary, this is Mr. Turan," Anna said, ushering the potential client into her office.

Mary looked up, and had to look up a bit higher. The man who came into her office behind Anna was at least 6'4", perhaps taller. He had lightly tanned skin, dark brown hair that was styled in short waves, bright blue-green eyes and a thin moustache. His suit was obviously custom tailored, a dark grey that looked very expensive, accented with a red tie and pocket square. He extended his hand to Mary, and she caught the glint of a diamond watch on his wrist.

"Mr. Turan," Mary smiled, shaking his hand. "Mary Crawley."

"Please, Jeremy," he said, a slight accent to his voice. He bowed his head, his eyes locked on hers.

"All right, Jeremy," Mary nodded. "And you may call me Mary. Please, sit."

Jeremy sat down on the other side of Mary's desk, his frame tall and imposing, particularly as he sat with his back straight and his hands on the arms of the chair, as though he were sitting on a throne.

"How do you take your tea, Mr. Turan?" Anna asked as she brought the tray into the office and placed it on a side table.

"Black, thank you," he replied. He turned and smiled as Anna served him a cup. Anna placed Mary's usual Chamomile on her desk and left the office, closing the door behind her.

"Now, Mr. Turan, how may I help you?" Mary asked, taking out her pen.

"I've just moved to London and I have a home that needs to be fully renovated," he said. "The house is empty, mostly. I have some furniture being delivered from another house, but essentially every room needs to be done."

Mary nodded, jotting down some notes. Despite the foreign accent, his English was excellent, his voice rather smooth with a deep, heavy tone.

"I see, and where is your house?" she asked.

"Rutland Gate, Knightsbridge," he replied. "Four storeys, six bedrooms, five ensuite bathrooms, two guest bathrooms."

"That's a lovely neighbourhood. Hyde Park is wonderful," she nodded. She turned to her computer and entered the address online, bringing up floor plans from a recent real estate listing. She kept her expression neutral but her mind began spinning with possible ideas. The home had to have sold for at least £18 million. What did Mr. Turan do for a living to afford such a home in one of London's richest neighbourhoods?

"Did you have an idea for a concept on the design?" she asked. "I like to work off of my client's imaginations. This will be a home for you and your family?"

"No, just me, though my children may come to visit from time to time," he explained. "I'm staying here for work, but I need the house to be warm and comfortable."

"I see, and where is your principal residence, then?" she asked.

"Madrid and Paris," he said. "I spend my summers between those two places. I'll be in London from now through to May, so I need the work done as soon as possible."

"That won't be a problem," she smiled, thinking of just how large a budget she would need to design an entire home in Knightsbridge. "We pride ourselves on being a comprehensive service for our clients. I'll handle the suppliers, the contractors, everyone. You'll only ever have to deal with me, and we'll work as fast as we can."

"Excellent," he smiled. "That's why I want you. I have a lot of people bothering me – photographers, reporters, people on the street asking for autographs and selfies. I need someone to be responsible for the house, someone who will do exactly what I want."

"I understand," she nodded, going over a strategy on how to raise the money question. "Autographs, you say? May I ask what your job is, Jeremy?"

"You haven't heard of me," he smiled. "I'm a footballer. I play for Arsenal."

"Ah," she laughed. "I'm afraid that I don't follow football very closely. My husband is a big United supporter."

"That's funny," he laughed. "They wanted me to come play for them, but Arsenal offered me more money. I'm afraid I will have to break your husband's heart."

"I won't tell him that until after the house is finished," she smiled, arching her eyebrow.

"I have seen some of your work in magazines," he nodded. "Very impressive. I have certain ideas about what I want, but I will leave it to you to find what you think will look good and show them to me. Money will not be a problem. I do not mind paying, as long as I get what I want."

"Well, I think by the time I'm done, you'll be very pleased," she nodded.

"Good," he smiled. "There are two important conditions, though. One, you must not talk about any of this. My designer in Madrid let one of his contractors take photographs of the inside of my house and they were all over internet. I value my privacy, Mary, and I need you to respect it."

"Of course," she nodded. "I can be very discrete."

"Second, I need the house done quickly. The team leaves on a tour in August and the season starts in September. I cannot perform at my best if I do not have peace in my home. You have four weeks, maybe six at most. If it takes longer, I will be very disappointed. I don't care what it takes. If you have to work past midnight, work past midnight, but the house must be done," he said firmly.

"I understand your urgency, but we are restricted by City by-laws dealing with noise and hours of work. Contractors, for example, are not allowed to work outside of certain times," she said.

"That is fine. I would not ask you to do anything illegal," he said, waving his hand. "But if I have an idea at 2 in the morning, I expect you be available to me. This will only be a success if I can rely on you at all times."

"If you want such service, Jeremy, you'll need to pay for it," she said archly.

Jeremy folded his hands together and smiled. "Name your price, Mary."

Mary looked at him for a moment, then picked up a business card from the card holder. She turned it around and wrote a number down, then slid it across the desk to Jeremy.

"That's my fee for six weeks' work. The cost of labour and materials, disbursements and other expenses will be on top of that," she said, her pulse jumping slightly in anticipation of his answer.

Jeremy looked at the number for several seconds. He looked up and stared at Mary, sliding the card back to her.

"Give me total access, and carry out all of my instructions, and I'll double that number," he said.

Mary didn't flinch.

"Congratulations, Jeremy," she said crisply. "You've hired yourself an interior designer."

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 2018**

Mary wandered down the dark hallway, a shaft of light coming from a room at the end beckoning her. She pushed open the door, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Matthew typing away on his computer.

"Darling, it's 3 in the morning," she mumbled, blinking several times to adjust to the light. "Come to bed. Whatever you're working on can surely wait a few hours?"

"No, I'm afraid it can't," Matthew replied, his back to her as he continued to type. "I need to get these revisions to the associates before they get to the office so they can start on them the moment they arrive. The materials are due in Court by the end of this week and we'll be tight to get it in as it is."

"You've been keeping ridiculous hours for months now," she persisted. "Can't you delegate some of this? I'm afraid you're going to collapse one of these days."

"I would if I could, but I can't," he said, his voice strained. "I'm the main partner on the file so the client expects me to oversee everything."

"Yes, but overseeing and doing everything are two very different things," she said.

"Mary, I know you mean well, but please, just let me work," he replied, looking back over his shoulder at her harshly. "This is what I do. This is what clients expect when they hire me. They don't pay me just because I'm a nice guy, you know."

"No, I appreciate that…" she said.

"Then please go back to bed," he said in annoyance. "I'll be up as soon as I can."

Mary frowned as he turned away from her and went back to work. She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes.

"Good night, then," she said, turning and leaving his office.

"Good night," he mumbled, going back to his revisions.

 **Home of Sybil Crawley, Highgate, London, England, July 2018**

"All right, so what's new with everyone?" Sybil asked. "Edith?"

"I'm not seeing anyone, if that's what you're asking," Edith frowned.

"What happened to that real estate agent you were seeing?" Mary asked, sipping her wine.

"Nothing really happened," Edith shrugged. "He texted me last week and I haven't gotten back to him."

"So doesn't that mean you're seeing him?" Sybil frowned.

"No, we've just been out a couple of times, nothing serious," Edith said.

"Well it certainly won't become serious if you don't actually put your mind to it," Mary said.

Edith rolled her eyes and took a drink of wine.

"All right, what about you, Mary? Tell us something besides what's going on with George," Sybil said.

Mary thought for a moment. "Well, I did get a rather interesting new client a couple of days ago. He's bought a gorgeous home in Knightsbridge across from Hyde Park and he wants me to redesign the entire thing."

"That's exciting," Edith said. "The house must be expensive. What does he do?"

"He's a footballer, actually. Have either of you heard of Jeremy Turan?" Mary asked.

"Jeremy Turan!" Sybil exclaimed. "He's your client?"

"Yes," Mary nodded.

"Oh my God!" Sybil almost shouted. "He's absolutely gorgeous!"

"Not to mention filthy rich," Edith added.

"How do both of you know these things?" Mary frowned.

"Are you kidding? He's dated a ton of models and singers," Sybil said.

"And knocked up a few of them," Edith smiled.

"How can you not know who he is?" Sybil asked.

"I don't pay attention to gossip, Sybil," Mary said airily. "Especially not gossip about footballers."

"Well, let's give you an education on who you're dealing with then," Sybil giggled, reaching for her tablet computer.

Mary shared a puzzled look with Edith. The two of them sipped their wine as they waited for Sybil, who was swiping her fingers across her tablet screen with lightning speed.

"There, check this out," Sybil declared, turning the tablet screen around and showing it to her sisters.

Edith and Mary both gasped.

Displayed on the screen was a slightly grainy photograph of Jeremy Turan completely naked.

"God, he's huge!" Edith blurted out.

"Edith!" Mary hissed.

"What? I'm just saying!" Edith said.

"Where did you find this?" Mary asked.

"I told you, he's all over the gossip rags," Sybil smiled. "There's countless photographs of him. He puts topless pics of himself on Instagram all the time."

"No wonder he said privacy was an important issue to him," Mary shook her head, looking away from the tablet screen.

"Yes, I'm sure that's why he sunbathes in the nude, because he values his privacy," Sybil rolled her eyes. "Come on, Mary. He knows exactly what he's doing. He's followed by paparazzi constantly. He knows that these supposed invasions of his privacy only increase his profile and the buzz about him."

"You think he deliberately paraded around like that?" Mary frowned.

"Why not?" Edith shrugged. "It isn't as though it's an unfavourable picture, is it?"

"What's he asked you to design?" Sybil asked.

"We haven't discussed it in detail yet," Mary said. "We just got the permits approved and the floor plans. I'm going over there tomorrow for the first time."

"Well, be sure and tell us what he wants to be put in the bedroom," Edith teased.

Sybil laughed.

"Grow up," Mary rolled her eyes.

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 2018**

Mary wandered from room to room with Jeremy at her side. He didn't say anything, giving her space to look around and confirm that her floor plans matched the actual dimensions and layout of the house. As per her usual practice, Mary had the floor plans digitized and put into a computer program she used to show three-dimensional models of the house to her clients. It allowed her to demonstrate to them in real time what changes she would make and how they would look. Her clients could then see for themselves how different colours and textures might look before any actual renovations were done.

"So, what do you think?" Jeremy asked as they came back to the kitchen, their current base of operations as the existing marble island was the best space to use for setting out blueprints, fabric swatches, catalogues and such.

"It's a beautiful home," she nodded, placing her tablet on a stand so she could show it to him. "Most people wouldn't change a thing and would just add furniture."

"I'm not most people," he smiled.

"I expected you would say that," she smirked, bringing up the kitchen model on the tablet screen.

"And what do you mean by that?" he chuckled.

"Nothing, just that all professional athletes have a certain amount of ego, don't they? You've all grown up being told you're the best at what you do, so it's understandable that you think you're better than us mere mortals, isn't it?" she smiled.

"I'm better than everyone at playing football," he laughed. "As for all this," he said, casting his arm towards the materials Mary had spread out on the kitchen island. "I don't know how good or bad I am, but I know what I like."

"That's all that matters," she nodded. "You're the one who has to live with it."

"Don't you have an ego, Mary?" he asked. "You must think of yourself as being special in some things, no?"

"I believe in hard work," she said, flicking her fingers across the tablet. "I didn't have to be a designer. I could have spent my life as a socialite and not accomplished a thing. So, no, I don't think I'm special. I think I've worked for everything I've gotten."

"That I can respect," he nodded. "Where I grew up, there are hundreds of thousands of kids who want to be footballers when they grow up. Some were faster than me, bigger than me, stronger than me. I was playing against kids four years older than me when I was young. I was the only one to make it."

"Because of your talent?" she asked, looking at him.

"No," he smiled. "Because of hard work. I worked harder than everyone else. I still do. There are better players in the world than me. But no one, no one works harder than me."

"What drives you?" she asked. "From what I understand, you've won practically everything there is to win in football. You're obviously doing very well for yourself. Why do you still push so hard?"

"Because my career is short. A footballer does not play very long beyond his thirties," he nodded. "Because all of this can disappear if I am not careful, and I do not want my kids to think that anything is easy in this life."

"Do you get to see your children much?" she asked.

"I talk to them every day," he nodded. "But they all live with their mothers. It is better that way. A child should grow up with his mother. The father is the provider, but the mother is the nurturer."

"That sounds rather old fashioned," she smirked.

"Well, in some things, I can be more traditional," he laughed.

"Here's what I envision for the kitchen," she said, turning his attention to the tablet screen. "New appliances and I'd bring the lighting down a bit over the kitchen island so it doesn't feel so sterile. The walls need some colour and I recommend changing the cabinets so everything isn't so white."

"I like it," he said after looking at the design for several moments. "Make sure the appliances are from France and the marble is from Italy."

"All right, any reason why?" she asked.

Jeremy went over to the fridge and took out a bottle of water.

"I want only the best," he smiled.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, July 2018**

Matthew frowned as he looked over the draft documents. He made several changes in blue ink, crossing out certain lines, making notations in the margins, and drawing arrows on the page indicating when he wanted paragraphs moved around. Once he finished a page, he would pass it to one of the associates in the boardroom to deal with.

"And now, the latest news from the celebrity world…" the commentator droned on the television screen.

Several associates looked up. Matthew continued to work.

 _"Well, it appears that known playboy and Arsenal's star new boy, Jeremy Turan has not wasted any time in getting acclimated to life in London. Last week we told you about how he threw a lavish party for himself at a posh downtown nightclub attended by teammates, models and a who's who of the pretty young things of London celebrity, and today we can report that he's hosting a more private party at his home in Knightsbridge…"_ the celebrity journalist exclaimed eagerly.

"Uh, Matthew," one of the lawyers said.

Matthew looked up and saw a photograph of his wife on the screen.

 _"This is Lady Mary Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham. Lady Mary has been spotted at The Bull's home every day this week. Now, before anyone goes jumping to conclusions, Lady Mary is actually a very accomplished and respected interior designer. She's done the London homes of Liam Neeson, Emma Thompson and Benedict Cumberbatch, to name a few. It is reported that her company, Mary Crawley Interior Design Inc., is renovating the home of Jeremy Turan, and so this could all be nothing more than a professional call and nothing else…"_ the reporter said seriously.

Matthew's eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips.

 _"Turan, though, is notorious for all manner of sordid tales involving the help. When he was playing for Olympique Lyon in France, he was rumoured to have had an affair with his son's nanny, and the stories of his rowdy house parties in Madrid were all over the internet last year. Even if Lady Mary is just helping renovate Turan's home, there's no question that millions of women across the world would love to be in her shoes…"_

Matthew turned back to his revisions. The other associates silently went back to their work.

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 2018**

"I must apologize for the gossip about you," Jeremy said as he and Mary went from the foyer into the library. "I told you, they all seem to follow me, no matter where I go."

"I'm familiar with paparazzi and gossip reporters," Mary shrugged. "Not on the same scale as you, of course, but it's not a problem. My friends got a good laugh out of it, actually."

"I'm glad, but I expect your husband must have been angry, no?" he asked.

"He probably wasn't too amused by it, but he didn't say anything," she said. "We don't talk about work. We like to keep our home life as separate from our work lives as we can, although both of us do bring work home when we have to."

"Well, so far you are exceeding my expectations," he smiled. "Keep this up and I will not need to disturb you at home."

"I don't mind. You're paying for total access," she said easily.

"Still, I would like to make up for any insult that I may have caused to you and your family," he said, bowing his head.

"I don't follow," she frowned.

"I think there is a way to properly frame our relationship so that the gossip will stop," he explained.

"The gossip never stops with you, does it?" she asked.

"No, but sometimes it helps to control the message, rather than let it run wild," he said.

Mary nodded.

"Go over and stand by the shelves," he ordered.

Mary frowned, then crossed the room to the row of empty book shelves that were left over from the previous owners. An ornate statue was placed on a table nearby.

"Just to the right a bit, perfect," he smiled, taking out his mobile phone and pointing it at Mary.

"What are you doing?" she smiled in confusion.

"Taking your photo," he nodded. "I'll put it on my Instagram and Twitter, introducing you as my interior designer. That will show that you work for me, and nothing more."

"I doubt my photo will stop any rumours from circulating," she laughed.

"There will always be idiots who make up whatever they want," he frowned. "But, this way, if anyone wonders why you keep coming over here every day, now they will know from me. And, I do not think it can be a bad thing if I advertise your services to my thirty million followers, no?"

Mary smiled at the thought.

"Okay, so just stand like that, maybe put your hand to your chin. It will look more official, no?" he smiled.

Mary smiled and assumed a more professional pose.

"Ah, that is perfect," he smiled. "Come and see."

Mary came back to his side and looked at his phone screen. She smiled at her photo. She did look professional and elegant, and the empty bookshelves and statute gave the image an unfinished look, as though she would be transforming the space into something spectacular.

"That's quite nice," she smiled.

" _Everyone, please meet my amazing interior designer, Mary Crawley…_ " he said aloud as he typed in the caption. " _She is making my dreams come true! Follow her!_ "

"What is your Instagram account?" he asked.

"Oh, it's _'marycrawleyinteriordesign'_ ," she said. "Anna runs the account. I don't have a personal Instagram."

" _'marycrawleyinteriordesign'_ " he repeated. "There. Done."

"Anna will be elated to see the publicity," she laughed. "Thank you, Jeremy."

"Thank you, Mary," he smiled.

"What is that statue? Is it yours?" she asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "It is Umai, Goddess of women, mothers and children. My mother gave it to me. It has been passed down through our family for four generations now."

"That's lovely," she nodded.

 **Home of Catherine Jones, Chelsea, London, England, July 2018**

"All right, let's have it!" Catherine cackled. "I want every juicy, nasty, filthy detail!"

"Calm down, Catherine," Mary rolled her eyes. "I work for him. That's all."

"Yes, I'm sure you've been putting in some very hard work," Catherine grinned, elbowing Rhiannon in the side.

"Ow!" Rhiannon complained. "Are you sure you're not a bloke? You've got a dirtier mind than any man I've ever met."

Ellen and Sarah laughed. Sophie refilled their wine glasses.

"Don't act as though none of you have wondered what's going on with Mary and her gorgeous millionaire footballer!" Catherine said pointedly. "And we've all seen what his cock looks like, so Mary can tell us if the photos do him justice!"

All of the ladies groaned at Catherine's foul language.

"Look, you know there's gossip rags and people online that all think Mary's doing him anyway, so she may as well take a ride and have a little fun," Catherine said easily. "It would be ridiculously simple. She's already there every day for work, she pulls him into the bedroom, has her way with him, and goes home to Matthew with no one being the wiser."

Mary shook her head in disgust.

"I'm shocked that you haven't been hit with a harassment suit at work yet," Sophie shook her head at Catherine. "A five-minute conversation with you would be full of actionable offences."

"No one's complained yet," Catherine smirked.

"And moving on…" Rhiannon groaned.

"Seriously though, Mary, you're sure that Matthew's all right with all of it?" Ellen asked. "I mean, your footballer has quite the reputation."

"Matthew's probably more put out that he plays for Arsenal than anything else," Mary shrugged. "Besides, if I'm honest, I don't quite see what all the fuss is about. Yes, Jeremy has four children from four different mothers, but I haven't seen anything untoward in the time that I've been there. He's perfectly normal."

"Yes, exactly," Catherine smiled. "A perfectly normal bloke who happens to be ridiculously rich, has a body that would make Michelangelo's David look like an old man with a beer gut, and least important of all, he seems to have a huge cock. Very normal, indeed."

Mary rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, July 2018**

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Crawley?" the woman asked timidly, knocking on Matthew's door.

"Yes, Miss Braithwaite, please come in and close the door. I'm sure you know Mrs. Chen from HR," Matthew said, pointing first to the woman sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk, then motioning to the empty chair next to her.

"Yes, hello," Miss Braithwaite said, coming over and sitting down. "How may I help you?"

"Miss Braithwaite, as the partner in charge of the Technology Committee, I've come across some rather disturbing information, and I was hoping you could help me understand it," Matthew said.

"Information, Mr. Crawley?" Miss Braithwaite repeated in confusion.

"Yes, specifically it appears that some of the staff and associates have been using their firm provided mobile phones for non-firm related work," Matthew said. "Now, certainly everyone is entitled to use their phones for personal use, but there are guidelines to what is considered acceptable, and what isn't."

"Yes?" she said, swallowing slightly.

"All of the emails and text messages sent from these mobile phones pass through the firm servers. Were you aware of that, Miss Braithwaite?" he asked.

Miss Braithwaite blinked. "No, I wasn't," she said.

"Yes, I expected that you weren't. I also expect that a number of staff and associates are also not aware of this, given what we've uncovered being transmitted from these phones," he said seriously.

She looked down at her lap.

"I won't bother showing you what we've found, as I don't feel it's necessary. I personally find this material rather shocking, and entirely inappropriate. I trust I do not need to make myself any more clearer than that, do I?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head. "I think I know what you're referring to."

"Good," he nodded. "Now, before I make my recommendations to the partners as to what discipline will be enforced for this behaviour, I'm going to give you an opportunity to tell your side of the story, if there is one. Mrs. Chen is here to ensure you are treated fairly, and for there to be a witness to our conversation. Given the nature of what we've discovered, I don't think it would be proper if you and I discussed this subject alone."

Miss Braithwaite nodded.

"You are under no obligation to say anything, though I will tell you that I've had conversations with other staff and associates and have given them the same opportunity to speak freely. I'll leave it to you to decide whether you feel like talking, or not," he said.

After several long seconds, Miss Braithwaite looked up at him and spoke quietly.

"It was just a game, Mr. Crawley. Just a bit of fun. A few of us, we thought it would be a riot if we tried to see how much…erm…fun…we could have with lawyers in the firm," she said.

"Miss Braithwaite, let me see if I can spare all of us some embarrassment," he stopped her. "My understanding is that certain staff members established a ranking system for lawyers in the firm based on physical attractiveness, and proceeded to compete with each other to see just how much…fun…you all could have. You had a points system for different…goals…you could achieve with certain lawyers, and you kept score as you went along. Is that accurate?"

"Yes, it is," she nodded. "The idea came from someone who had seen something similar done in college, you see."

"This isn't college, Miss Braithwaite. This is a reputable and respected law firm, with a great deal of goodwill attached to its name," he said coldly.

She nodded slowly in acknowledgment, shifting in her seat at his harsh tone.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Erm…well, just to…clarify…the ranking system wasn't just about physical attractiveness. There was also a ranking for status, so partners were ranked higher than associates, and married men were ranked higher than bachelors," she said.

"I see," he said, glancing over at Mrs. Chen, who frowned back at him.

"Actually, you were the highest ranked man in the firm, Mr. Crawley," Miss Braithwaite mumbled. "There was a lot of talk among the girls about who would be the lucky one to get to you."

Matthew blinked. "I see."

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 2018**

"The walls still need to be done, but the rest of the room is essentially finished," Mary declared as they walked into one of the bedrooms. "What do you think?"

"It's very nice," Jeremy nodded. "But there's a few extras that I would like."

"All right," she nodded, taking out her tablet. "Your wish is my command."

Jeremy walked over and stood at the foot of the bed. He turned around slowly, taking in the dimensions of the room. He took several steps to a point, then turned and looked back at the bed.

"Here," he said, pointing at the floor. "I want a pole."

"A pole?" she frowned. "The structure in this room is already stable enough. You don't need any more support for the ceiling."

"No, not a support column," she shook his head. "A pole."

"A pole," she repeated. "What kind of pole?"

"A pole made of glass or marble, from the floor to the ceiling," he said. "Come over here."

Mary went over to stand beside him, facing the spot on the floor that he was looking at.

"I want the pole to be this big," he said, taking Mary's hand. He turned her fingers, making a 'C' grip with her hand.

Mary looked at her hand in confusion. "And what is this pole for, exactly?"

Jeremy smiled. "For entertainment," he smiled. "For dancers."

"Dancers?" she frowned.

"Yes," he nodded. He stepped back and walked around to the bed, sitting down and leaning back against the headboard.

"Turn towards me," he ordered.

Mary turned to face him.

He looked at her, his gaze going down to the floor, then up to the ceiling and back down to her eyes.

"Yes, there," he nodded, getting up from the bed. "A pole right there."

Mary shook her head as she finally understood his meaning. She measured the location of the preferred spot and took some tape and marked an 'X' on the floor.

"All right, then," she said. "Next?"

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 2018**

Mary swallowed a bite of her grilled chicken, then took a sip of water to clear her throat.

"How's that big file of yours going?" she asked, looking up at Matthew at the other end of the table.

"It's going," he sighed. "I've got some work to do later this evening."

"Do you know how much longer the file will be going on for?" she asked.

"At least until the fall, maybe even into the winter," he shrugged. "It's complicated because we're dealing with court proceedings in the US and Canada so even if the London portion finishes early, we still have work to do."

"But surely if the London part resolves itself earlier, then you won't have to work so late so often?" she asked.

"We'll see," he replied.

She frowned slightly, then cut into her chicken.

"Perhaps we should think about taking a trip when your file is wrapped up," she suggested. "We haven't gone away since before George was born."

"Where would you like to go?" he asked, taking a sip of his Coke.

"I don't know, maybe Italy. It'll be warmer there in the fall," she said. "Perhaps Singapore or Bali if you're up for it."

"I don't think George would do very well on a long plane flight," he noted.

"Well, we could always leave him with your mother, or with my parents," she said lightly.

"You would leave him behind?" he frowned. "He's barely a year old, Mary."

"Yes, I know, but he's more mobile now and he's eating solid foods, so we could send Nanny to Downton with him," she said.

"I'm not quite sure I want to travel without him," he said shortly. "I barely get to see him as it is."

She took another sip of water.

"Speaking of which, I'm going to go and spend some time with him before Nanny puts him to sleep," he declared, getting up from his chair.

"All right," she said, watching his retreating form disappear from the dining room.

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 2018**

"And this is the children's room," Mary said, opening the door and stepping aside for Jeremy to walk through.

He went through and looked around, smiling as he saw the bunk beds, the children's sized furniture and the bright colours and letters. Plush cushions on the beds had the children's names embroidered into them, and there was plenty of storage drawers and bins below the beds and along the walls.

"It's perfect," he nodded. "They'll love it."

"Will you send for them before you head out on tour next month?" she asked as they left the room.

"No," he shook his head. "July and August they spend with their mothers. They will come see me in September for my first match, and again in October. They are with me in May and June, depending on when my season ends."

"That isn't much time," she remarked. "You must regret that you miss out on numerous moments in their lives."

"I talk to them often," he shrugged. "When we chat online, they show me what they've made at school, and they always take videos of their matches and recitals and concerts. I don't miss much."

"But you're not there in person," she said. "It isn't the same."

"No, it is not," he agreed. "But it is more important that they spend time with their mothers, than with me, so it is okay."

"Do you truly believe that?" she frowned as they entered the master bedroom. "A father has an important role in a child's development, surely?"

Jeremy smiled in amusement. "Yes, of course. I talk to them, and I spend time with them. I teach them about football and make sure they spend time with my side of the family when they are with me, but the day-to-day, that is for the mothers. That is how they want it."

"What do you mean, 'that is how they want it'? Are you saying the mothers of your children don't want you around?" she asked.

"Something like that," he nodded. "They knew what the agreement was when we were together."

"The agreement?" she said in confusion.

He chuckled. "I am not ready to get married," he explained. "I am too young, playing football takes all of my time and focus. I do not have time for a wife and raising children. I almost don't have time for a girlfriend. My children, their mothers wanted to have kids, so I help them, but they do not expect me to be around. I provide for them, and that is enough for now. Maybe when I retire, I spend more time with my children, but that is many years in the future."

"What are you saying? That you planned to have these children, but not to be part of their lives?" she asked, shocked at his words.

"It was not planned no," he shook his head. "At least, not by me."

"And what does that mean?" she asked.

"Women, when they are…with me? They want a part of me. They know I will not stay with them for long, so they want a part of me they can keep, and that is why they want me to breed them," he said lightly, as though he was discussing something as basic as the weather.

"Pardon?" she blinked.

"They like it," he said. "They like the feeling of being with me, of belonging to me. I usually say no, or use protection, but some of them are very persistent, and I like kids, so I sometimes think, why not?"

Mary rolled her eyes and looked down at her tablet.

"I need you to fix something about the drawers," he said, pointing to the armoire in one corner of the room.

"All right, what is it?" she asked, focusing on her job.

He led her over to the armoire and pulled open the double doors. Mary had arranged for a custom made armoire of polished wood with a vintage, Asian-inspired look. The drawers within included a drawer separated into square compartments to hold his folded ties and another drawer with cushions raised at an angle for watches and jewellery and such.

Jeremy pulled open the first drawer. A colourful array of ties were neatly folded and tucked into the boxed compartments.

"I need another drawer like this one, with the same measurements," he said, picking up a silk tie.

"All right," she nodded. "Would you like it next in the column or further down?"

"Next, just below this one," he said, unwinding the tie, then wrapping each end around each of his hands and pulling it taut.

Mary watched him curiously.

"You must have a lot of ties," she noted.

"We must wear the team colours when we travel and before and after matches," he said. "So it is usually a red tie. Arsenal red."

"Then what are all these?" she said, indicating the different coloured ties in the drawer. "These are for your personal use?"

"Yes," he nodded, extending his hands and snapping the tie tight. "For my personal use."

He folded the tie up and put it back in the drawer. Closing it, he pulled open the second drawer.

She frowned as a number of objects were placed on the cushions, including four sets of stainless steel handcuffs, various lengths of what appeared to be black silk, some short leather belts and some large feathers.

"I do not want the cushions anymore," he said. "I was wrong to order them. I need actual compartments, to fit everything so it is organized."

"This is a rather eclectic mix of accessories," she noted, keeping her voice detached and level.

"They go with the ties," he said. "For my personal use."

"I'll need to measure everything," she said. "The tape measures are all down in the kitchen."

"I need to make a phone call," he said. "You can go ahead and come find me when you are done."

"All right," she nodded, turning and heading for the door.

"Mary," he called out.

"Yes?" she said, turning around and looking at him.

"All of this," he said, casting his hand towards the drawers. "Does that shock you?"

She blinked. "Jeremy, it will take a great deal more than that to shock me," she retorted.

"I have no doubt," he smiled.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, August 2018**

"Got a second, Matthew?" Lavinia asked, coming into his office.

"Sure, a quick second," he said, clicking 'Save' on the file he was working on, then turning to look at her standing on the other side of his desk.

"I just wanted to check on how you're doing," she said. "It's been quite a week for you."

"I'm fine," he sighed. "I don't really have time to sit back and think about what's happened. I need to focus on the next task or I'll get run over."

"Well, from what I hear, the senior partners are absolutely giddy over how the Hendricks Receivership has gone. It seems you're the firm's superstar once again," she smiled, crossing her arms in front of her.

"That was last month," he said. "It's August now."

"I was a bit surprised though that nothing much came from that whole investigation into the staff's little game," she smirked. "You're getting soft in your old age, Matthew."

"Hardly," he scoffed. "Without divulging too much information, suffice it to say the game had gotten rather out of hand, to the point that trying to make an example of anyone would have been counterproductive, so we gave a few stern warnings and hopefully it doesn't happen again."

"Or at least they'll use non-firm mobile phones in the future," she laughed.

"That's not funny," he frowned.

"I think it's hilarious," she laughed.

He shook his head and sighed in exasperation.

"Well, carry on, then, Mr. Superstar," she smiled, turning to leave.

"Wait, Lavinia," he called.

"Yes?" she asked, turning and coming back to him.

"Why do you think the game went as far as it did? I know the staff are usually fresh out of school, but they're still grown adults, and the lawyers who may, or may not have participated in the game with them are older still, some of them even married. What's the appeal of it all?" he asked.

"You're so cute when you're clueless, you know that," Lavinia shook her head, smiling at him.

He scoffed.

"It's a few things, Matthew – the forbidden nature of it, the feeling of getting away with something that you shouldn't be doing, the sense of power, conquering someone who's supposed to be above you, some women find having sex with men in positions of power to be thrilling," she listed.

"Yes, I assumed all of that," he said. "But what about the married men having a higher rank than the bachelors?"

"That's easy," she stated plainly. "There's a basic, primal sense of excitement in stealing another woman's mate, Matthew. And we're all here in a high stress, high pressure environment. We work long hours and are all over achievers who are driven to succeed at all costs. Convincing a married man to stray, to ignore his vows, for a moment of pleasure, is a huge challenge that most of us would gladly take on. It's the ultimate affirmation of the power of being a woman – to have any man we want, even a married one."

Matthew nodded in understanding.

"Plus I expect that there was some appeal for the lawyers and the male partners," she said candidly. "There's something thrilling about having that kind of power over a pretty, young thing desperate for your attention and approval, isn't there, Matthew? Particularly if they don't expect anything from you except sex, and you know that you can get away with it?"

Matthew frowned suspiciously. "I wouldn't know," he said slowly. "I don't think of the staff in that manner. They work for us, nothing more."

"Ah, well then," Lavinia shrugged, then turned and headed for the door.

"Wait a minute," he said, causing her to stop. "You said 'most of us' when referring to those playing the game. You referred to the players as 'us' rather than 'them'."

Lavinia looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. "Did I? Well, I suppose you'll never find out whether I was playing or not, will you?"

He blinked, dumbfounded as she left his office.

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, August 2018**

"Lady Mary! Lady Mary! Can we just get a quick word please!" the paparazzi called out from across the street.

"Lady Mary! Have you designed Mr. Turan's bedroom yet? And if so, can you describe how comfortable the bed is and how many people could fit comfortably in it?"

"Lady Mary! Are you being paid for your services at your normal rates, or is there a payment in kind arrangement in place?"

Mary gritted her teeth as she passed by the security guards and went into the house, the calls of the paparazzi fading away as she closed the door behind her.

"Your adoring public are becoming more and more obnoxious," she noted as she came into the kitchen and found Jeremy sitting at the kitchen island. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and as Mary came around the island, she saw that all he was wearing was a pair of black spandex shorts.

"I know it's hard, but just ignore them," Jeremy said, taking a drink of a protein shake. "You can't win with those people. When the season starts, they'll move on to someone else."

"I'm quite surprised that you're so calm about it," she remarked.

"The ones here in London are not bad," he nodded. "In Paris and Madrid, they're worse, although maybe Italy is worse than everyone. There, they try and break into your house or they bother your family right on your doorstep."

"Maybe it would be easier if you didn't give them ammunition," she said, putting her tablet down on the counter.

"What do you mean?" he smiled.

"Your lifestyle," she said. "It lends itself to scrutiny and attention. You are spotted with different women all the time, you have children out of wedlock, you go out partying on nights before and after your matches. You have expensive cars and expensive taste. People want to know about your life as a result, and that's why the media and the paparazzi follow you around."

"How do you know that I do all of this?" he asked in amusement.

"It's all over your Instagram, and you must know that a Google search of your name reveals all manner of discoveries," she said.

"So you searched me online?" he laughed.

"I like to know who I'm dealing with," she said.

He nodded. "My life is my life. Yes, I could live like a monk or stay indoors all the time and never go out, never talk to anyone, just play football, eat and sleep and that's it. But, what kind of life is that? What's the point of being the best at what I do, if I cannot enjoy it?"

"I hardly think there's only two extremes – football robot and playboy," she rolled her eyes.

He finished his drink and put the empty bottle in the recycling bin. "Let's go upstairs. I have to shower and change."

She got her tablet and followed him out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

"What makes you think that what I do is so bad?" he asked as they went up the majestic winding staircase that linked all the four storeys together. "What do I do that other people do not do?"

"Other people aren't millionaires," she replied. "Other people can't afford to do what you do."

"Other people cannot afford my lifestyle, yes," he nodded. "But other people go to clubs. Other people drive fast cars. Other people have sex with women. Same as me."

"Not quite the same as you," she said as they reached the bedroom level.

"Other people commit crimes," he continued. "Other people abuse their spouses, cheat on them, lie to them. Other people hurt their kids. Other people steal money. Other people do not pay their taxes. I don't do any of these things. No one follows these other people around like they do me."

"You've never had a relationship with a married woman?" she asked.

"I didn't say that," he smiled. "But I don't have a wife or a girlfriend to cheat on."

"Other people aren't as interesting as you," she said. "Other people don't have 30 million followers paying attention to what they do."

"So it's jealousy, no?" he asked. "They hate that I have fans. They hate that women love me. They hate that I have money. So it doesn't matter what I do, no? People will still want to gossip and take my photograph without permission. At least this way, I enjoy my life now."

They reached the master bedroom. Jeremy went into his dressing room and Mary went over to the armoire. She opened it and checked the drawers, the changes that he requested had been installed. She opened the drawer and saw the handcuffs, black silk, leather belts and feathers all tucked away in their own special compartments.

"It is much better," he said, standing close behind her.

"Goodness, you made me jump," she said, touching her chest. She turned her head and noticed how close he was. He was still wearing nothing but black spandex workout shorts. A blue silk robe was slung over his shoulder. His sculpted chest, arms and abs were on full display.

' _Catherine would be on her knees right now'_ Mary thought fleetingly.

"I like how everything is easy to reach," he said, lifting his arm towards the drawer. His biceps brushed against Mary's shoulder as he picked up one of the leather belts.

Mary watched as he brought the belt towards her, holding it up in front of her, just below her mouth.

"You know what this is, no?" he asked lightly. "I have others, but this is a new one. Do you know what this is?"

"It's a collar," she said, her voice tight.

"Have you ever seen one like this before?" he asked, his lips close to her ear.

"Yes," she nodded.

He put the collar back in its compartment and closed it.

Mary blinked, and turned her head to look at him.

"Do you know how I found you? How I found out about your design company?" he asked, his voice soft and smooth, almost melodious.

"You said that you saw my work in magazines," she said, her eyes looking at his, the blue-green seeming to swirl in the overhead pot lights.

"That's true, I did see your work, but that was after I already heard about you. I looked up your work to make sure you had the skills that I wanted," he explained.

"What skills?" she asked.

"Your work is excellent, the best I have seen," he said, looking at her intently. "All your clients that I read about say the same thing – you give them exactly what they want."

She nodded. "Who told you about me?"

"I was referred to you by a childhood friend of mine. We grew up in Istanbul together. He is like a brother to me. Kemal Pamuk," he said, the name hitting Mary as though she was slapped.

She blinked.

"Kemal told you about me, did he?" she asked, trying to keep her tone even.

"He certainly did," he nodded. "He told me all about you, all about how good you are…at what you do, all about your particular…preferences."

Mary swallowed.

"Well, you can imagine that upon hearing such a glowing recommendation, I knew you were the perfect woman to do the job for me. I didn't bother considering anyone else. I knew I had to have you. Only you," he said.

She nodded.

"I'll have to remember to thank Kemal the next time that I see him. You've been everything he told me you would be, and more," he smiled. "Now, I'm going to shower and change. You can carry on with the library and leave when you wish. I may text you if anything comes up. So far, I am very pleased with you. You've given me almost everything I want."

She watched as he went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. For a moment she stood there, facing the slightly open door as Jeremy ruminated around in the bathroom, preparing to shower. Finally taking a deep breath, she turned away and left the bedroom.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2018**

Mary removed her shoes and walked slowly upstairs. She turned down the hall, walked past her bedroom and went down to the nursery. There was a soft glow coming from the room, the nightlight that they had put next to George's crib no doubt. As she approached, she heard a voice singing quietly.

" _Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are!"_

Matthew looked up from the crib, smiling at Mary standing in the doorway.

"Shh," he said, bringing his finger to his lips. He came over to her and kissed her on the cheek.

"He just fell asleep a few minutes ago. I told Nanny she could leave early and I'd watch him until the night nurse came," he whispered.

"You were going to watch him from your office?" she asked.

"Yes, on the monitor," he said, looking back and smiling at their sleeping son.

"Why don't you go on and go downstairs?" she said. "I'm just going to sit with him for a bit and then I'll be right down."

Matthew nodded and left.

Mary walked over to the crib and leaned against the rail. She watched George sleeping, her son so much longer and bigger now as a toddler than he was as a baby. He breathed deeply, the sound making her smile, tears coming to her eyes.

* * *

"He's still asleep," Matthew noted, glancing at the baby monitor as Mary came into his office.

"Yes," she nodded. "The night nurse is with him. He's been quite good about sleeping through the night lately. I don't know how much longer we'll have use for her."

"Don't speak so soon," he chuckled. "He still wakes up at 5 a.m. and needs to be soothed back to sleep."

"That's better than most kids his age," she shrugged, taking a seat in the chair next to his desk. "All in all, I'd say we've lucked out with him."

"I'll remind you of that the next time he blows out his diaper," he said, looking at his computer screen.

"Matthew, there's something I need to tell you," she said.

He frowned. Reaching over and turning off the computer monitor, he put his papers back on the desk and turned his chair to face her.

"All right. What is it?" he asked.

"It's about…my past. You remember when I was dating Kemal?" she said softly.

"Of course," he nodded.

"Well, I expect you wondered, probably more than once, why I was with him?" she asked.

"I did, several times," he confirmed. "Though to be fair, I wondered the same thing about all of your boyfriends. I wasn't exactly objective where you were concerned."

"Yes, well, Kemal came along at a particular time in my life. I was just out of college, feeling rather rebellious. I'd rejected Papa's offer to go work for him yet again, and insisted on making my own way," she said.

"Interior designer to the stars, you said," he smiled.

"Exactly," she nodded. "Well, it didn't all come off overnight."

"No, of course it didn't," he said. "You were quite frustrated in those early years trying to get your start."

"Yes, I was," she nodded. "And that's why Kemal was so appealing. He was a convenient escape. He didn't care about my job, or anything that I did really. He was refreshing that way. Being with him was incredibly freeing. He had a way of making the world fade away, and at that point in my life, it was quite intoxicating, his ability to cast all responsibility aside."

"Intoxicating. Are you speaking in figurative terms, or literal?" he frowned.

"Both," she said quietly. "Kemal enjoyed indulging in all manner of things. He smoked quite a bit, and when we were at his place, or when we went out with his friends, it would often involve a Turkish hookah."

"A water pipe," he stated.

"Yes. Kemal had a special blend of tobacco that he preferred," she said. "He imported it from friends of his in Turkey. Anyway, when we were together, be it just the two of us, or at a party, invariably we would smoke."

"You smoked?" he frowned in surprise.

"Yes. At first I didn't, but he kept insisting, and eventually I gave it a try," she shook her head ruefully. "It was quite relaxing at first, actually. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. We would lounge around and smoke, listen to music, watch movies. Compared to the stress of my normal life, it felt quite liberating."

"What else besides tobacco did he put in the hookah?" he asked cautiously.

"I learned rather quickly that he would add weed to the mixture," she said.

He frowned.

"I was young and foolish, and it isn't as if I didn't have other friends who smoked up from time to time. I didn't think it was a big deal, and in a way, it wasn't," she said.

"At that age, many people smoke up recreationally, yes," he said.

"I suppose. I told myself that was partly the reason why I stayed with him much longer than I should have. Being with him was a way to forget all of my problems for a while, and back then I didn't know how to cope otherwise. What we did, no matter how wrong it was, felt good at the time," she said.

"All right. So you did recreational drugs when you were in your early twenties. Fair enough," he stated.

"That's not all of it," she said, looking down at the floor. "Kemal had a particular personality. He was very possessive and controlling, but in a rather subtle and manipulative way. He never hurt me, or even raised his voice against me, actually, but he had a way of getting me to do things, things that I didn't understand fully at the time that he wanted me to do."

"Such as?" he asked, his pulse jumping.

"When we were together, he enjoyed being…dominant, and he convinced me to be submissive to him, and to like it," she whispered, her cheeks blushing.

He blinked.

"I don't quite know how to explain it all, even to this day," she continued quickly. "But it wasn't all just him trying to impose his will upon me. I think there was a part of me that did enjoy it. It was sort of the same with the smoking. The loss of control. The surrendering. It was so different from what I was used to, what I'd been raised to be. I was always in control, always wanting to wield the power in everything I did. Kemal took all that away from me, and I liked it. It became a bit of an addiction, just letting go and giving myself up to him."

"I see," he mumbled.

"The reason that I ultimately ended it with him wasn't only because he was a rather negative influence on me. It was that I came to realize that he didn't care. He didn't care about me at all. I was disposable to him, someone he could use and do whatever he wanted with. Even though he would smile and whisper sweet nothings into my ear and call me all manner of pet names, he didn't actually care about me at all. He wasn't concerned about my safety, about my health, about anything. He just enjoyed the thrill of using me. Eventually I got up enough strength to leave him, and he didn't even try to stop me or convince me otherwise. He just let me go and moved on to his next conquest," she said.

"His next thrill," he muttered.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to understand this part of me, understand where my head is at the moment. I love you, Matthew. I love our life together. I love George and our family. I love what we're building together. I know you have to put up with a lot, seeing photographs of me with clients and hearing rumours and gossip and what have you. But, all of that is just for show. It's just marketing my brand, nothing more. What people might say about me, none of it matters. None of it is real," she explained.

He nodded.

"I do think that I have certain urges, though, that I've tried to supress over the years. If you are afraid of this, then I won't mention it again," she said, looking at him carefully.

"No, I don't want that," he replied. "You obviously felt the need to tell me, so it must be important to you."

"It's just that I think since George was born, something about us has changed," she said. "I know that we're both busy with work, and our schedule is no longer our own, having to plan around him and so on. I love him, and I'm grateful for him, but having a child has changed us, Matthew."

"I can't imagine that it wouldn't," he agreed.

"Yes, but it's changed how we are with each other," she said. "I know we've both been busy, but it seems as though we aren't as…close…as we once were. We don't seem to make time for each other anymore. We're always trying to plan things for the three of us, or for one of us with him while the other is busy. We're a family, of course, but you and I, we're a couple as well."

"Darling, of course things have changed between us," he said carefully. "We have another person who relies upon us now, for everything. That's the biggest responsibility that either of us will ever have. We can't think of each other without thinking of him as well. He's a part of us, and he must be our top priority."

"Yes, I agree," she nodded. "But I'm afraid that we're so concerned about George and about our careers that we've unknowingly put you and I off to the side. We haven't spent enough time on us."

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"I'm saying that I want you to know that I'm not just the mother of your son," she struggled. "I'm your wife, Matthew, and I have needs and desires. I've told you what I've done in the past. I don't want to hide it from you. I want...things. I want you to want me, to desire me. I want to give myself to you, completely. My hope is that we can find our way back to each other, where we aren't just co-parenting, but where we're husband and wife, in every sense."

Matthew's phone vibrated on the desk. He looked away from Mary and glanced at the screen.

"It's Klefbom," he shook his head. "He wouldn't call me unless it was an emergency."

He turned away from Mary and answered the call.

"Niklas," he said. "What is it?"

The conversation became tense. Mary could tell by the tone of Matthew's voice that it wasn't a pleasant talk. She watched him, his back hunched over as he spoke. There seemed to be the odd grey hair on his head. She hadn't noticed it at all until now, but there were a few stray strands where once it was all a healthy blond.

Getting up from the chair, she left his office and went back upstairs to the bedroom to go to sleep.

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 2018**

Mary walked into the library and greeted the workers who were putting the finishing polish on the wood floor. She watched them work until she was satisfied that everything was under control, then went back to her makeshift office in the kitchen. As she put down her tablet, her phone buzzed.

' _At practice. Will text you later with instructions.'_

She frowned at Jeremy's text, then put her phone on the counter and picked up her tablet, bringing up her checklist for the day and going over it.

 **Law Offices of Harvell, Carter & Lewis LLP, Fleet Street, London, England, August 2018**

Matthew scribbled furiously on the pages, passing them off to the lawyers as he went, revising the document as quickly as he could.

"All right, there's the factum," he declared. "Where's the draft Order with the distribution proposal?"

Klefbom handed it to him.

"Pay attention, please, Niklas," Matthew said. "I need you to understand everything I'm doing and why, so you know how to do it yourself. If you have any questions, please ask, no matter how basic. You want to be a rainmaker? You want to be the lawyer that gets the big files? Then prove to me that I can trust you with this one."

"I'm with you, Matthew," Klefbom nodded eagerly, leaning forward.

Matthew checked his phone and frowned.

"All right, let's get to it," he said, turning back to the draft Order. "The draft Order must have several terms to help us convince the Judge that we should get the relief we're seeking..."

Klefbom made copious notes as Matthew explained the revisions that he wanted. Matthew turned the pages briskly as he spoke, checking his phone every few minutes.

 **Ambassador Suite, Four Seasons Hotel London at Park Lane, Mayfair, London, England, August 2018**

Mary walked slowly down the hall, her heart beating faster as she watched the room numbers change the further she went. Each step took her closer to her destination, and further away from where she had been. She clasped her hands together, the key card felt cold and impersonal. Her legs felt weak the closer she got to the designated room, until she was standing in front of the door, staring at the key scanner.

She could still turn and go. Retrace her steps. Take a cab back to her office as though she never got his text, never received his orders, never chose to obey him. She was standing on a precipice, the unknown ahead of her, her old, safe, comfortable life behind her, and all she had to do was take a step, choose one over the other.

She thought of her husband. She thought of her son. She thought of the life they had together. Shaking her head, she set them aside as she focused again on the key card and all it represented. This was about her. Her choice. Her life. The life she wanted, where she could have everything she truly desired. The only question left was whether she wanted to embrace what was waiting for her behind this door, or retreat from it.

Her fingers trembled as she raised her hand, her eyes watching as though this wasn't her body moving to open the door. As the scanner recognized the key card and the green light flashed, she swallowed, recognizing the finality of her decision. The door beeped cheerfully, like a trumpet announcing her arrival. She knew he could hear the same sound inside. She knew he would be looking at the door, expecting her to walk in. She watched her hand turn the door handle and push, again a strange sense of detachment making her feel as though she wasn't in control of her own body. In a way, she supposed that she wasn't. As she stepped across the threshold and into the suite, she understood that her body wasn't only hers anymore. It was now his to control. The door closed shut behind her, the lock clicked firmly into place, and she shivered in anticipation.

* * *

The suite was elegant and spacious, tastefully decorated with all the modern conveniences. She walked through the living room and turned left, went down a short hallway and turned right. Several steps later, she found herself in the bedroom. She ignored the King bed for now and crossed to the windows, closing the sheer curtains and the drapes as well, blocking out the afternoon sunlight, darkening the room, and tuning out the outside world completely. Turning around, she looked at the bed, seeing the box with the red ribbon sitting on top of the duvet.

She stood frozen, unsure what to do, unsure of what she wanted to do. Where was he? Why wasn't he here? Was this a sign? Did she still have one last chance to call it off and escape? The box held her attention, the ribbon a rather peculiar added touch, denoting there was a gift inside intended just for her, waiting for her to unwrap it. Swallowing, she went over and picked up the box and carried it out of the bedroom and across the hall to the ensuite bathroom.

* * *

Mary stood at the foot of the bed, facing the large mirror on the wall. Her clothes and shoes were gone, left neatly organized in the walk-in closet. Her legs were threatening to give out on her, feeling rubbery and weak. Her pulse was racing, so much so that she thought she could hear her own blood pumping furiously. The red lace bra fit snugly, raising her breasts and putting them on display. The matching panties were almost pedestrian by comparison. They were low cut and trimmed with lace, but she had worn far flimsier pieces before. There was no collar, thong, handcuffs or towering high heels in her gift box. Apparently, he was feeling generous, paying token attention to her comfort, or perhaps he didn't want to scare her so soon.

Or perhaps he thought her ensemble made her look better this way, more innocent, more vulnerable. Her lacy garters and sheer stockings were the same colour as the rest of her lingerie, and emphasized her long legs and the curve of her bottom. She stared at her reflection, barely able to remember the last time she felt so afraid and aroused all at once. She had followed his command and come to this suite at the appointed time. Now, she had stripped off her clothes and put on the outfit he had picked out for her, the purpose of his directions entirely clear. Each choice she made was in his favour. Each step she took was bringing her closer to his clutches.

Her fingers fidgeted and she played with her wedding and engagement rings on her ring finger. She had considered taking them off before, but decided to leave them on. He would enjoy that, she thought, seeing the clear reminder of her marriage as he did what he wanted with her.

She heard the chime indicating the front door of the suite had been unlocked. It was but a chirp but it sounded like a pistol to her ears, breaking the silence in the suite, signalling the start of a race, or the end of a life.

She took a deep breath and kept staring at her reflection, waiting for his entrance.

* * *

He walked into the suite, taking his time in removing his coat and shoes, placing them in the hall closet. He knew she was here. He could smell her scent in the air, and sense her presence somehow. She was waiting for him. He half expected her to bolt when she arrived first and saw he wasn't here to meet her, to run, to go back home and pretend that this never happened the next time she saw him. He deliberately delayed his arrival so as to give her that last chance and see how she would react. But he somehow knew she would stay, just as he hoped she would.

He walked into the bedroom, again moving slowly and deliberately. His steps made barely any sound, but he suspected she could hear him. He paused at the doorway, admiring her profile, the way the lingerie he had bought for her hugged her curves. The colour looked good on her, just as he imagined. Dark red, a dangerous colour. He became hard just looking at her like this. He always admired her figure, but this felt different. He had picked out these pieces just for her and she had dutifully changed into them. What else was she willing to do for him? He was eager to find out.

He stepped into the room. She still faced forward. He could see from the rise and fall of her breasts that she was breathing quickly. Good. He would make her gasp for breath many times before he was done with her. Something primal within him was shouting at him now, urging him to strip her naked and use her for his pleasure, but he willed himself to be calm and patient. He had more instructions for her, and he needed time to carry out his plans.

She felt him approach, not daring to look at him. His image appeared in the mirror as he came to stand behind her. He looked strange to her somehow, unlike the man she knew. His presence seemed to fill the room, making her appear small, a meek woman, so not who she truly was. She was Lady Mary Crawley. What was she doing here? Why was she here? Why had she decided to ignore all logic and come to him like this, to answer his summons, to acknowledge that he had this hold over her, and would have it for as long as he wanted? Her heart pounded in her chest, driven not entirely by fear, though, but by a fierce yearning that alarmed her, and that seemed to grow the longer he lingered behind her.

He glanced down at her left hand and saw the sparkle of her rings. A knowing smirk crossed his lips, then vanished just as quickly. He lifted his eyes, their stares finding each other in the mirror. Holding her gaze, he began undressing, and she watched, each layer that he peeled back revealing more of his body to her, and bringing her closer and closer to the point of no return. Her doubts and objections were already weakening. Once she saw, and felt him fully, any hesitation she had would disappear, replaced by lust, and need, and complete obedience.

His boxer briefs slid down his legs and he was naked. Her lips parted, her tongue sliding past her teeth as though she could almost taste him already. He stepped forward, his firm chest touching her shoulder blades, his hard arousal pressing against her silk-covered bottom. She gasped as his hands came up and took a strong hold of her arms, trapping her in place as he pressed so close that he was almost a part of her, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

She managed to keep her eyes closed at first. He did not command her to open them and she was grateful. She could not bear to look at him, not yet. At first, she embraced the darkness of her closed lids, thinking they would shield her from the reality of what was happening.

She was wrong.

She could picture everything, as if her mind used all her other senses to transmit everything that he was doing to her without the use of her sight. His scent filled her, told her how close he was to her heated skin. His taste was still on her lips and tongue, lingering there from when she was on her knees and he commanded her to open her mouth so he could plunge inside. She heard every lewd sound. His unyielding voice as he gave out her orders, his sinister taunts as he told her what he was going to do to her in the seconds before he did it. The snap of her bra and garters when he removed them, the tear of her panties when he ripped them off of her, the swish of her stockings as he unwound them from each of her legs, his tongue trailing a wet path down her skin in their wake. And her own voice, heated and desperate, calling out, crying out, telling him how good she felt with unabashed, uninhibited passion and vulgar, filthy words meant only for him.

And there was touch.

His touch was confident, assured, relentless. Sometimes he was momentarily gentle, like when he kissed her, and stroked and massaged her breasts, licking them to delightful arousal. Most times though, he was rough, like when he spanked her, pulled her hair, spread her legs apart, held on to her possessively, turned her over, positioned her the way he wanted her. His every movement was deliberate, a wordless message that she understood fully. He would do whatever he wished with her, and she would not stop him. He would turn her into his willing slave, and she would like it.

And to her delirious excitement, he was right about all of it.

Far more startling though, was her own touch. She wasn't passive, but eager. She grabbed his wrist and guided his hand between her widespread legs, pulling him in and begging him to give her one, then two fingers, and finally the press of his thumb that sent her flying. The flex of her hips as she pushed against him when he latched on to her core with his lips and tongue and made her go over a second time. The way she enthusiastically loved him with her mouth, laving all over his hard length with her tongue, then taking him past her lips, moving back and forth on him as he pushed into her throat. Caught up in her desire, she almost seized control from him, until he took hold of her head and set her pace, reminding her of their respective places. The duvet felt soft under her now, and she hung on to handfuls of it as he bent her over onto her hands and knees and took her from behind, one of his large hands teasing her breast, the other holding on to her hair.

He looked down at her and he could not help but grin. It wasn't his normal smile, but one of rapture and lust and conquest. His eyes roamed from her dark hair, tangled around his fist, down alabaster skin, flawless and perfect, the expanse of her back tapering down from her shoulders to the flare of her hips, and the beautiful curves of her bottom. He saw himself thrusting in and out of her with a fierce rhythm, saw the way she took him each time fully to the hilt. His eyes went wide with near madness, he grit his teeth into a wicked leer. She was incredible, this woman; gorgeous, intelligent, powerful and fierce. She could bring men to their knees with one brilliant word as easily as she could with her undeniable beauty, and yet here she was, bent over for him, submitting to him.

He leaned forward slightly, took his hand away from her breast and reached upward. Her lips parted for his fingers, sucking wantonly and loudly as he moved them in and out of her in time with his hips. Withdrawing from her mouth, he brought his wet fingers back to her breast and she moaned from the contact, arching her back to receive him. The size of his ego at the sight of her naked body prostrated before him was surpassed only by the size of his desire.

His mind was filled with so many dark images that he thought he might pass out. Different games and positions he would put her in, commands he would give her, ways he would have her. By unlocking her secrets he had also unlocked his own, and he feared nothing would cure him now but to have her again and again, over and over, in every way he could dream of. His fantasies combined with her moans as he rammed into her harder and faster. Now that he had taken her like his, how could he ever tire of it or accept anything less than to own her fully?

One particularly devious idea bloomed in his mind as he watched her push back against him, and he smiled wider, if that was even possible. It was so clear to him, the final step, the perfect end to this moment that would change both of them forever.

"I'm getting close. Where do you want it?" he rasped.

She almost opened her eyes at that. He hadn't verbally asked her anything since he arrived, only commanded and taken, her moans and shouts of pleasure giving him all the permission he needed. This was now the true point of no return. It was almost ironic how he questioned her, when they both already knew what her answer would be, just as they both knew when he sent her that fateful text earlier today that they would be here, together, joined exactly like this, both of them on the edge of release, both of them about to go to a place in their relationship from where they could never go back.

"Inside me. Please," she pleaded.

Her own choked voice sounded far away and strange to her ears, but she knew what she said.

So did he.

"Dirty girl," he laughed, his voice heavy and predatory. His hand left her breast and he smacked her ass hard, causing her to whimper and tighten around him. "You want it badly, don't you?"

"Yes! Oh God, yes!" she called, any hope of salvation or restraint abandoned as she gave in to him, rocking as he tugged on her hair and took her mercilessly.

"Oh, you're going to get it. You're so going to get it. I want you to scream, Mary. Scream for me. Scream for me louder than you've ever screamed for your husband," he ordered, punctuating his command with another deep thrust and another slap to her ass.

She blindly thought it was fitting that he demanded that she take this last step. He wanted it known. He wanted the other guests in the hotel, innocent passersby down below, anyone within earshot, to hear the proof of his victory over her. He didn't just want her surrender, he wanted her willing acceptance of him, of their changed relationship. Her voice, the same voice she used to prove her wit, charm and power so many times, he wanted her to use her voice now to announce what he had done, and what he had taken. Most of all, he wanted her to hear herself scream as she became irrevocably his.

Mary gasped, then her eyes opened wide as she felt him lean over her and quickly grab both of her forearms. She was confused for a second until he pulled her arms back behind her, bringing her wrists together and holding them firmly against her back. Denied the use of her hands, she had nothing to support her weight as she moved with his thrusts, and for a moment she swayed, pitched forward, helpless in his hold.

He yanked her back, causing her to lift her chest, and shift back to sit in his lap, using her own weight and momentum to make her take him completely. One deep plunge was followed by another, and another, and she cried out and clenched around him as she released. He kept going as she continued to shake.

She forced herself back against his hips just as he buried himself into her as far as he could go and roared. She felt completely impaled and moaned out loud as he shot into her, over and over, hot and fast. She felt it all.

She arched her back and lifted her head, her eyes closing as his seed spread through her. As he continued to spurt, she opened her mouth and screamed his name, as loud as her lungs would allow.

* * *

The room was dark when Mary opened her eyes, a single lamp on the nightstand casting a dull glow that still left shadows at the edges beyond the large bed. She blinked several times, her mind catching up to her, every vivid memory of her illicit encounter with her lover hitting her all at once. She breathed in his scent, smiling drowsily as she felt the warmth of his chest against her cheek. Turning to snuggle closer to him, she kissed his skin, lightly and leisurely, pecking him with her lips at first, then swiping her tongue across his shoulder, then his neck, tasting him, the familiar mixture of sweat and soap and man that made her lightheaded.

"Mmm," he said lazily, his hand lifting from the bed to cup her bottom. "What time is it?"

"I have no idea," she chuckled, continuing to kiss him.

He laughed in return, opening his mouth when she reached his lips, his tongue massaging hers.

"That was amazing," she said in wonder.

"That was just the beginning," he said smugly. "I have many plans for you."

"Do you?" she grinned, not at all ashamed by her giddiness. "You're rather full of yourself."

"I think I have good reason to be," he retorted. "I've got you addicted."

She blushed, looking down demurely to avert his eyes. "Yes, you do," she admitted, and she realized she was happy about it.

He chuckled knowingly and triumphantly, causing her to grow warm and blush even more.

"That was cruel what you said about my husband," she noted, looking back up and arching her eyebrow at him. "And entirely inappropriate."

"No more inappropriate than everything else that we just did," he scoffed. "And in a hotel room no less. How many perfectly good bedrooms do we have at home?"

"I thought that your booking the hotel was brilliant, Matthew," she smiled, brushing his dishevelled hair away from his forehead. "You made me come to a secret place as if we needed somewhere to hide what we were doing. It made me feel quite naughty."

"Like you were being a bad girl?" he smirked.

"Your bad girl," she corrected him. "Exactly who I wanted to be."

He laughed, then pulled her into another kiss.

"Are you all right? Seriously, darling, don't hold back just to spare my ego. Was all of that okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked nervously. "Do you have bruises, or marks, or was any of it too much? Should I have…"

"Shut up," she scolded him, kissing him again. "All of it was incredible. You were incredible. At the risk of sounding like a lovestruck teenager, that was the best I've ever had."

He hummed in contentment, hugging her close and kissing the top of her head.

"How long have you fantasized about doing that?" she asked him, looking at him playfully. "You didn't just come up with all of this out of the blue. It was far too well orchestrated."

"How long? Well, for a while," he swallowed. She could see his blush even in the low light of the bedroom.

"Matthew," she said firmly. "We promised that we would be entirely honest with each other. How long have you wanted to have me like that?"

"Years," he sighed. "When we were just friends, every time I would see you dating another man, I would get so…angry…and frustrated…I would imagine just going over to your place, bending you over the nearest piece of furniture and having my way with you."

"Staking your claim…literally…" she said huskily. "Putting me in your thrall."

"God, Mary," he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. "The things I imagined doing to you. It was all so shocking to me, but I couldn't stop imagining more and more."

"I want to know all about them," she smiled, running her fingers across his chest. "Darling, do you know why I told you about my particular…fetishes?"

He moved his hand away and looked at her. "Yes, because you felt I was taking you for granted since George was born, and you were right," he whispered. "I've been neglecting you and your needs."

"No, you weren't neglecting me, or at least both of us weren't paying proper attention to each other," she smiled. "I wanted to be honest with you about my desires because I was desperately hoping that you would act on them, just like you did tonight."

A stupid grin overtook his face. "You wanted me to do all of that? Truly?" he asked.

"Yes, truly," she laughed. "I don't fantasize about some random man treating me like his little whore, darling. I fantasize about you, about being anything and everything you want me to be, because I know that you love me and care about me, and I trust you completely. You're my husband, and you're also my lover, and I wanted to be free with you, entirely in your hands."

"I love you," he said quietly. "So very much. I don't even think I can put into words how happy I am right now, what I'm thinking about after all that you said and everything that we just did."

"I think I have some idea," she arched her eyebrow at him, reaching down and taking hold of him. She grinned as he began to stiffen while she stroked him.

"Careful, darling," he warned, smirking at her. "In my current state, I'm not in the mood to be slow and sweet with you."

"Good, don't be," she whispered, swallowing as she turned her head to look down at him. "You look like you're ready to go again."

"I feel as though I could go all night," he teased.

"Well, that sounds dangerous," she smiled, kissing her way down his chest. "I may not be able to keep up. You'll wear me out."

"Don't worry, darling," he smiled, reaching down and tangling his fingers in her hair. "I had Mother come down to help Nanny with George. We've got this suite to ourselves for the entire weekend."

"Do we?" she purred, staring at her hand moving on him. "But I'll need to go home at some point. I don't have any other clothes."

"I'll take care of that," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere. Now open your mouth for me."

She moaned and complied immediately as he pushed her down between his legs and thrust past her lips.

 **Home of Jeremy Turan, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 2018**

"There you are," Mary smiled, handing the cheque to the contractor. "The remaining balance will be paid within ten days after the project is certified as complete."

"Thank you, Lady Mary," the contractor nodded. "A pleasure, as always."

Mary nodded and went back to writing in her notebook as the man turned and left the kitchen.

"The water pressure in the gym shower is perfect," Jeremy announced, coming into the kitchen.

"Glad to hear it," Mary smiled, looking up as he walked past her and over to the fridge. He was once again topless, wearing loose fitting shorts, socks and a towel around his neck. "We went through enough hassles trying to get that issue fixed."

"And you have fixed it," Jeremy smiled, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge and taking a long gulp of it. "What are you up to?"

"Spending your money," she said, arching her eyebrow at him. "I've paid the contractors up to today, and I'm pleased to report that all should be finished prior to you leaving for your preseason tour."

"Excellent," Jeremy nodded, walking over to her side and looking down at the papers. "I admit that, in the beginning, I was not expecting you would be able to meet my demands. Most people cannot."

"Well, I'm sorry I wasn't able to disappoint you," she said, closing her notebook. "Now, was there anything else you needed? If not, I'm off."

"You could come upstairs," Jeremy said, waving his hand. "I need to pick out clothes for tonight."

"No thanks," she smiled. "You can't afford my fashion advice. Where are you off to?"

"I have a date tonight," he shrugged.

"Ah," she said lightly. "Well, the paparazzi will enjoy that. They'll think you've dumped me for someone new."

"I don't care about what they think. They'll make up lies about any woman who comes near me, as they did with you," he laughed, walking around the kitchen bar and heading for the stairs. "Where are you off to now? Back to the office?"

"No, actually," she said, checking the time on her watch. "I have a date tonight with my husband."

"Very good. Have fun and I'll see you tomorrow," Jeremy nodded and left the room.

Mary grabbed her mobile and her tablet and headed for the door.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 2018**

"Shh, you'll wake him!" Mary hissed as she tried to stop laughing. She slapped his hands away from her bottom, took off her shoes and wandered into the foyer.

"He's a sound sleeper," Matthew retorted. He closed and locked the front door then followed after her. "Come here."

"Matthew!" she chuckled as he pulled her into his hold and kissed her neck lightly. "At least let me go look in on him first before you have your way with me!"

"Fine," he grumbled, his head falling on to her shoulder. "Go and give him a kiss for me, and I'll run a bath for us. Don't leave me waiting for too long, or I'm coming after you, and I don't care what the night nurse thinks."

"Shouldn't you check in with the office?" she teased, holding his hand as they went upstairs. "There must be something going on, some big important file that requires your attention?"

"If there is, Klefbom can deal with it and I'll fix whatever he's fucked up in the morning," he replied. "I'm not looking at my phone for the rest of the evening."

"Really?" she said in surprise. "Found something better to do, have you?"

"Yes. You," he growled, looking at her intently.

She shivered at his tone and stare. "Don't make me blush."

They reached the landing and he kissed her hand. "Be quick about it. I mean it."

"I will," she nodded, arching her eyebrow at him playfully before releasing his hand and heading down the hall to the nursery.

Matthew smiled as he paused in the hallway, ogling her arse as she walked. He went into the bedroom and began unbuttoning his shirt as he headed for the ensuite bathroom, his imagination running rampant.

 **Office of Mary Crawley Interior Design Inc., Mayfair, London, England, August 2018**

"Many thanks, Mary," Jeremy smiled, handing her an envelope. "Your work was absolutely outstanding. I could not be more pleased."

"Thank you," Mary nodded, accepting the cheque and passing it to Anna. "I'm pleased we could do the job for you."

"You were both excellent," he nodded, looking at Anna quickly, before turning back to Mary. "I gave my parents and my kids a tour of the house with my iPad the other day. They love all of it."

"You must tell us how they take to it when they come for a visit," Mary nodded.

"I will," he smiled. "I'll even bring them by to meet you. I've also told some of my teammates about your work. Who knows, this may be a new market for your business."

"Designing footballers' homes," Anna nodded. "I could get used to that."

"I'l wait and see," Mary smiled. "Footballers can be terribly difficult and demanding."

Jeremy laughed in reply.

"Thank you again, Mary," he said, stepping forward and kissing her cheek. "It's been a pleasure. I hope to make use of you in the future."

"Certainly you can," she nodded easily. "If you ever need our services, you know how to reach me and my price. Goodbye, Jeremy."

Jeremy smiled at both of them, then turned and left the office.

"I don't know if I'm feeling flushed from Mr. Turan or from this cheque," Anna said, shaking her head.

Mary laughed and turned back towards her office. "Just leave it in the safe and we'll have someone come by and pick it up for deposit tomorrow. I don't want you walking the streets with that much money in your purse."

"Good idea," Anna nodded.

"And once you've done that, go on home," Mary added. "I think after such a successful result, we're entitled to a bit of a break."

"Thank you!" Anna smiled. "Though I was hoping we were going to go out and celebrate?"

"Another time," Mary said. "I think I need to sleep for a week first, or at the very least resume more normal hours."

Anna laughed and locked the cheque in the safe. She closed and locked the cabinet door afterwards, then grabbed her purse, said goodbye to Mary and left the office.

Mary came into her office and sat down at her desk. She looked around thoughtfully, casting a furtive glance at her easel, the large chairs, the side work table, the window, and her desk. Smiling to herself, she took out her mobile phone and texted her husband back.

 _'Anna's gone. In my office alone. Waiting for you, as instructed.'_

 **fin**


End file.
